Rune and Ruin

8 - Hatchling

391 B.C. - City of Caere, Coast of the Tasurian Peninsula, Spring, Month of Maius

Falx

Three days without Thania was nearly unbearable. My demon is pouting like a recalcitrant hatchling, and I'm not much better.

The fucking plebians have arrived in Caere. Even with the relocations of many of the city's citizens, the Runion poor overflowed our buildings, taxing every resource, and still they flowed in like locusts.

"I forgot how annoying they were," Quintus mutters quietly next to my shoulder.

"Lucky bastard you are," Tems snaps. He was called back to Rune more often in the last six years than Quintus and I combined. In the last year, he refused no less than six summons to return to the Senate. It's what happens when you are one of the only heirs to the singularly wealthiest family in Rune. No warmarch for Tems. No freedom, either, except for what he snatches for himself with his own fangs, claws, and devious cleverness.

"Why so many?" I mutter to Tems. I wasn't expecting the hordes of Rune's poorest citizens to flood into a recently-captured city. The full-Acerian towns and villages we conquered never got this much attention.

"They believe that Caere is different," one of the visiting generals, Flavius, states.

"I am aware," I snap impatiently. "Caere is not an Acerian city, despite being more than half. There is wealth here for the taking. The Fyrrin line has fallen out of favor with the Senate, at the moment and every loyal demon is flocking here. I expected that. I am asking why so many?"

"The northern shapers are causing unrest," Tems says quietly. "Add that to the plague that is destroying our families and you have the desperation that drives the poor from the city."

"Yes, and Caere isn't any safer or more fertile than Rune. What am I missing?" I snarl. My demon unfurls his wings like an angry fishwife might snap a dishtowel.

"They couldn't have already heard rumors about..." Quintus's voice trails off.

"About?" I snap.

"Our priestess," he finishes his thought quietly.

I shake my head in denial as he claims Thania, even though I know he's correct. "In three days?" I snarl. "It takes two to reach Rune by wing."

"Less if you're a bird-shaper," Flavius points out, his tone grim. He is not winged. Unusual for a Tasuri general, but the male has earned his spot.

"A day and a half," I nod. "So, a shaper brought news of my priestess and the plebians immediately left Rune? They still wouldn't make it here."

"Some of them are from other, closer towns," Flavius points out. "Only ones I see down there come from the west, nothing east of Rune."

"Because they haven't had time," I mutter. "So, if this is only the first wave, how many can we expect?"

"Not too many more," Tems says. "Falx, these people have been waiting for a new city to be established for months, even years. They have been edging closer and closer to Caere, following your footsteps as you march across the peninsula. Rune has lost its luster." Under his breath, he adds, "not that it ever shined, pestilent place."

"We don't have enough space," Quintus says grimly. "It threatens the peace."

"The temple has been sending out aid," Flavius adds quietly. "Not your priestess, Fyrrin," he amends quickly. "Although she's certainly in the thick of the planning up on that hill."

"She always was interfering," Quintus mutters.

"She cares," I snarl.

"And if she slips her guard when the city is overrun?" Quintus asks. "If we lose track of her?"